‘Ralph Fenwick?’ Despite himself, Bill was slowly becoming enthralled.
‘Riiiight.’ Albert drew the word out. ‘Him. And they, him and the cat that is, went up Cherry Blossom Close chatting to each other happy as you like. And you know where they went?’
Bill shook his head.
‘No, course you don’t. But I do. ‘Cos I followed ‘em, see?’ Albert paused for effect and took yet another noisy slurp of tea. He looked at Bill over the rim of the mug and smiled.
‘Ah, so now you’re interested. Bit diff’rent for some reason I see. Maybe you’re thinking that I ain’t quite so doolally after all, eh?’
‘Maybe not, Albert,’ Bill conceded, reluctantly. The hairs on the back of his neck and forearms had suddenly come to attention. ‘So are you going to tell me where your ghosts went, then?’
‘They ain’t my ghosts, Sergeant Williams. But for the record they went up to old Fred’s place, God rest his soul. Give me this coat, he did. D’yer know that?’ Albert indicated the large RAF greatcoat he was wearing.
‘Yes, Albert, I know that.’ Everyone knew that. ‘So, what did they want there?’ Bill asked.
‘Monkey business, that’s what they was up to. Monkey business and a spot of thieving,’ Albert told him. He was relishing his role as storyteller. For the first time he had a rapt audience. Albeit, of only one.
As soon as Albert mentioned the word ‘thieving’ Bill was on full alert. Up to that point he had gone from patience to curiosity to fascination. His mind was beginning to put two and two together and, although they still added up to five, things were slowly beginning to make a strange sort of sense. It was Wiglob.
Bill tried not to show too much emotion as he encouraged Albert to continue, even though his mind was beginning to race.
‘Fred’s kids were there, but they was next door. I heard a lot of crying. Anyway, that Ralph fella and his cat went inside and I crept round the back to see what they was up to. They went into Fred’s bedroom, cheeky buggers, and robbed him. Can you believe it? Robbing the dead. It ain’t right I tell you. Just ain’t right, even if you are a ghost,’ said Albert passionately.
‘What did they take, Albert?’ Bill asked carefully.
‘Couldn’t tell for sure, sergeant. It was in a plastic bag. They lifted it out of the floor. Looked like Fred had some sort of safe by his bed. Whatever it was, they nicked it. Hidden in a tin box it was. They nicked what they was after then put the tin back in the hole in the floor.’
‘Anything else?’ Bill insisted. He was fully on board at this point, ghosts or no ghosts.
‘Actually there is.’ Albert sounded as though he wanted to get as much mileage out of the story as possible.
‘Well?’ Bill asked.
‘The kid was there. Fred’s grandson.’
‘Michael, you mean,’ Bill prompted.
‘Yes, little Michael. Smart kid that. Played chess with him once. Beat me, too.’
‘Really?’ Bill expressed surprise. Not at the fact that Michael had beaten Albert at chess; Michael had beaten most people he had played against, Bill included, but surprise at the fact that Albert and Michael had played; wondering where and when that was. He had become momentarily distracted. ‘What happened?’
‘Nicked my rook and it was all over. Didn’t even see it coming,’ said Albert.
‘Not the game of chess, Albert, the burglary, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Oooh, keep y’hair on there, sergeant. The thieving, right. Well, Michael must have been in the house somewhere; I didn’t see. But he went into Fred’s bedroom to use the loo, and when he came out . . .’ Albert paused, ‘he looked at the cat and spoke to it. Would you believe it? I knew that kid was bright but I never reckoned he was clever enough to see ghosts. How about that then, Sergeant Williams? Now there are two of us. Wonder if he’ll become homeless like me? What do you think, eh?’
‘What did he say?’ Bill asked, refusing to be drawn along that path.
‘Nothing that I could tell.’
‘Not the cat, Albert. Michael, said Bill, annoyed.
‘Oh. Well why didn’t you say? He said “hello”, I think.’
‘So how do you know he was talking to the cat?’ Bill asked.
‘Because the moggy had its head poking out from under the bed and the lad looked down at it. I was watching through the window. Don’t you listen? Or do you think I’m making all this up? Maybe you think it was me that burgled Fred’s house. Wanna come and ransack me coal shed for evidence?’
‘No, Albert I do not. And for the record, I do believe you. God knows why, but I do.’ Bill couldn’t believe he had actually said that.
Albert was grinning. ‘Well you’re the copper. I’ll leave you to it then.’ He stood up and handed the empty mug back to Bill.
‘You’ve gone a bit pale there sergeant! Which is quite a thing, considering,’ Albert chuckled. ‘Look like you might have seen a ghost.’
Bill just sat there for a few moments, not sure of what he should do next.
Albert looked up at the sky. It had become overcast during the past ten minutes or so and a few spots of rain had begun to fall.
‘Oh well, I’m off to the Coach and Horses for an early lunch.’
He stood, stretched, handed Bill the placard and shuffled off to the pub.
‘I might reconsider the road-sweeping. I’ll let y’know tomorrow,’ he called over his shoulder.
*
By the time Bill Williams walked into his office he really did look like he had seen a ghost.
Constable Finch was sitting at Bill’s desk doing the crossword in the morning paper. As Bill walked in, Finch stood up with a start and knocked over the chair in his haste.
‘Sarge, the Yard just called. About the fingerprints we sent them!’ He was almost bursting to tell Bill what he’d found out.
‘And they told you the only finger prints were those of Ralph Fenwick and his wife and maybe one or two of the neighbours. Then they told you that Ralph Fenwick could not be who he claims to be because they had no record of anyone by that name on file,’ said Bill in a matter-of-fact manner that deflated Finch quicker than a bicycle inner tube after a nail had been pulled out. The little whining sound that escaped from his lips added to the effect. He was strongly suspecting that Bill had supernatural powers.
‘Wiglob, Constable Finch. Wiglob. Now, I want you to do some real detective work. Get the Yard back on the line and ask to speak to Detective Sergeant Courtney,’ Bill ordered, handing Finch the piece of paper he had found at Fred’s house. ‘Tell him you need information on a woman named Emma Greaves. I have a feeling she lives in Chester. And I want an address and a telephone number.’
Finch did not move and did not look like doing so any time soon.
‘Jump to it lad, we haven’t got all day,’ Bill snapped. Still no response. ‘Constable, make my day!’
Finch blinked, and did jump.
‘Right, sarge,’ he whispered hoarsely.
Bill was heading for the door as Finch was picking up the telephone.
‘I’ll be back shortly. I’ve got to go and see Mary Robbins; then I’m popping in to the Coach and Horses.’
‘Bit early for you, sarge, isn’t it?’ Finch asked suspiciously.
Bill Williams turned, tapped the side of his nose, and winked. For the first time in a while, he had a smile on his face.
‘Just off to see a man about a cat!’
15: Scousers and Red Herrings
They changed trains at Kings Cross with the minimum of fuss. Fred attracted one or two inquiring looks: looks that said, ‘I’m sure I know that face,’ and then this thought would be instantly dismissed and replaced by one of, ‘No, can’t be.’
He managed to secure a private carriage on the trip up to Crewe and was thus able to avoid any more similar fleeting thoughts.
The English countryside rolled by. Mile after mile of fields, some under cultivation, others lying fallow. He found himself counting cows t
hrough the window. Most were sitting down, a sure sign of imminent rain.
It began to fall when the train was half an hour out of London. Drizzle at first, then later more heavily. Much more. The sky became so gloomy it seemed like evening, when in fact it was only just past two-thirty in the afternoon, but so poor was the light from outside that Fred was able to see his reflection quite clearly in the carriage window.
Fred began to think about the events of the past week while absently making bets with himself over which raindrop would reach the bottom of the window first.
‘Penny for them,’ Ralph asked. Fred looked across the table and guessed that Ralph was probably thinking along similar lines.
‘Been an interesting week, hasn’t it?’ said Fred.
‘That’s no lie,’ Ralph agreed.
‘I wonder where the cat has gone,’ Fred asked, changing tack so
swiftly that Ralph nearly fell overboard.
‘The what?’ he replied, a little too sharply, as if upset at being dragged out of the dream-like reverie.
‘Hendrix. He wandered off about half an hour ago. He jumped off the table and walked straight through the door. I’d never seen him do that before. Quite unnerving.’
‘That one’s got a mind of his own. Beyond training.’ Ralph pulled a face that gave the impression he had just swallowed something unmentionable. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’ He looked disgusted.
Fred chuckled. ‘Perhaps coaching might be better.’
‘That is not funny!’
‘You’re right, but at least we’re on the right track!’
‘Bugger off.’
‘Better than going off the rails!’
Ralph put his hands over his eyes and groaned. ‘Save me from comedians.’
Fred laughed aloud.
*
The train pulled into Chester Station at 6.43 p.m. ‘Three minutes late,’ Ralph noted. ‘But who’s counting?’
‘Me, actually,’ said Fred.
Hendrix leaped from the train after his own fashion, then began to hum the song Time is on my side for no apparent reason other than his own. Neither Fred nor Ralph recognised the tune. To them it sounded like a cat wailing, which of course was literal in this case.
‘Taxi? Or are we going to walk?’ Ralph asked. The rain had stopped and it was certainly pleasant enough for a walk through the historical city of Chester. Ralph seemed to be looking forward to it.
Hendrix splashed in and out of several puddles while the two men made up their minds.
‘Taxi, I think. Time is of the essence, almost as much for you as it is for me.’
‘You have a point.’ Ralph replied wryly. ‘Taxi it is, then. Would you like me to hail one for us or will you do the honours?’
‘Funny,’ said Fred as he walked across the road to the rank.
They climbed into the cavernous interior of one of the taxis and settled back against the worn leather seat.
‘Where to, mate?’ The driver’s accent indicated he was from Liverpool. Fred brightened immediately. John Barnes territory.
‘Forty–seven Lake Lane, please.’
‘Right. Be about five or six minutes, unless you wanna stop on the way?’
‘Stop. What for?’ Fred asked.
‘Dunno loike. Thought you might be ’ungry. Could stop at the chippy or the Indian if y’fancy? Thought you’d come up from the game loike. I see Chester beat Crewe two-nil in the cup this afternoon. ‘Great, hey? Can’t stop these Scousers y’know. Rushie’s doin’ a great job for your club.’ He hadn’t even stopped to draw breath.
‘Actually my club is Liverpool. But I’m happy for Chester,’ Fred replied. He was always wary of owning up to which football club he supported. Football was sometimes a matter of life and death in England.
The taxi driver turned around in his seat and extended a hand.
‘Put it there, wack. Best team inna werld,’ the driver announced, openly flaunting the Scouse accent once he realised he had met a comrade-in-arms.
‘Who’s yer favourite player of all time?’ The cabbie seemed to have lost all desire to drive his fare.
‘Er . . . John Barnes, actually,’ said Fred.
‘I-do-not--be-lieve-it!’ The driver enunciated each syllable, in a slow precise manner suggesting total shock. Then he rushed the next three sentences. ‘Mine too, how’s about that then, hey? ‘Amazin’ if yer ask me. That’s what it is.’
I couldn’t agree more, Ralph thought. He was as wide-eyed as the cabbie, never having suspected for one moment that Fred was a soccer fan and, more to the point, a John Barnes fan.
‘Listen,’ the cabbie started, ‘Yor me last fare an’ the Lake Pub is just down the road from where yer goin’. Fancy stoppin’ off for a few jars? We can chat about old times.’
He had gotten it into his head that anyone who supported Liverpool - and especially John Barnes - had to be an old mate. If one considered that most Scousers thought you needed a passport to come to Chester, it would be easy to draw such a conclusion. And although Fred spoke with a more cultured accent, as far as the taxi driver was concerned, he had to be Liverpudlian.
‘I can’t. Sorry mate,’ Fred apologised and tried to look disappointed. ‘Missus will kill me. Know what I mean?’
The cabbie had a knowing look on his face.
‘Too right me old mate,’ he grinned ‘Next time then, hey?’
‘Yeah, next time,’ Fred agreed.
The cabbie turned back to face the road, started the taxi, and pulled away from the kerb.
A hundred metres further on he broke into You’ll never walk alone and Fred felt obliged to join in. Ralph sang along as well, much to the surprise of Fred and the annoyance of the cat - he flattened its ears and made a pained ‘yowl’ sound. To Hendrix it all sounded like wailing.
*
After working in shifts for thirty hours straight, they finished navigating the last voyage. They had found the chest. It was surrounded by a large shoal of fish.
‘Well, this is it, people,’ said Andy.
Rose looked uncertain. ‘Wait a moment, Andy,’ she said holding up a hand.
‘What is it?’
‘We’ve missed something, I’m sure of it,’ she said, running a hand through her dishevelled hair.
‘Nonsense,’ Phil scoffed. ‘We’ve sailed across treacherous waters to the foreign sea, avoided that sand bank, lifted the king’s curse, didn’t sink, and found the chest. Now let’s open the damn thing and solve the mystery.’
Everyone held their breath as Andy inserted the final key into the chest’s lock. There was a realistic dull clunk as the key turned. Very slowly the lid opened.
‘Oh, no!’ Rose whispered.
‘Oh, crap.’ Phil croaked.
Inside the chest was a gold bar. Engraved upon it were the words:
TEDDY REMBACK?
Andy Rogers looked crushed. He had known Gordon Hartley for years. For him to do this. It was beyond comprehension.
‘Perhaps it’s meant to be like this? Maybe this is the clue?’ Cindy Cousins offered in a small, non-convincing voice.
‘Do you honestly believe that? The name Teddy Remback has been on every single disc since Treasure Hunt’s inception. I personally know of two wealthy players, who don’t need the money, who’ve hired whole firms of private detectives to try to track him down. And they’ve come up with zilch, nada, nothing. A big fat zero!’
‘Then maybe this is not the final disc? Perhaps Gordon is having us on,’ Cindy tried again.
‘Right. It’s all a big joke. Absolutely. Gordon didn’t suddenly disappear. The Limited Power of Attorney he left is so limited, that he apparently forgot to sign it. The last disc arrives in a pizza box, with his favourite pizza I might add, and we haven’t had one email or phone call or even a damn carrier pigeon since the moment he vanished into thin air.
‘If we release this, we will be swamped with lawsuits within minutes of it hitting the streets,’ Andy continued. ‘Not to m
ention the lynch mobs that will be queuing up outside our front door.’
‘You ask if it’s meant to be like this. Look at the screen, for God’s sake.’ Andy was almost beside himself.
‘It just looks like a shoal of little fish,’ Phil said.
‘But what are they,’ Andy insisted, his voice almost a whine under the strain of his emotions.
‘They’re red?’ Cindy squeaked.
‘They’re herrings!’ Andy finally exploded.
16: All Righty, Then!
Bill Williams’ mind was revving like Michael Schumacher’s Ferrari of old He accelerated to the front desk, braking at the last moment but coming to a halt sharp enough to give PC Griffith a start.
‘Whoa, sarge, what’s rattled your cage?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Get Mary Robbins on the phone, quickly,’ said Bill without preamble.
PC Griffith had been filling in a report, as she usually did, and was a bit slow off the starting grid. Too slow for Bill Williams, at any rate.
‘Now please, constable!’ Bill snapped.
In such a small village where very little out of the ordinary ever happened, when it did most folk reacted as if aliens had landed or they had just been notified of an impending visit by Royalty. Considering how often people in Wiggleswood ever got to see Royalty in the flesh, it amounted to the same thing.
This is as opposed to those not-quite-so-common folk who hang suspended in the rarefied atmosphere of Royalty. Such would include ex-cons from Robben Island, small Indian gentlemen in loincloths, politicians (the ones that would visit Robben Island as tourists), one-time daughters of greengrocers, and very unkempt pop stars (not to be confused with musicians; there is a difference) named Gelded or something. These people know that Royalty, especially the English variety, truly are aliens.
With only four acting police officers, five including Albert of course, it was no small wonder that these individuals weren’t at each other’s throats more often. Considering the time they were obliged to spend in one another’s company, the term ‘miracle might be more fitting.
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